


as we are now

by neroh



Series: my saints fallen [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy doesn’t remove his hand and, rather surprisingly, runs his thumb over one of Harry’s knuckles. “I’m still pissed at you,” he whispers.</p><p>“You have every right to be,” Harry tells him as their stares meet.</p><p>The younger man’s lips are pursed into a thin line, though his eyes are visibly wetter than they appeared a moment ago. He sniffles, blinking rapidly until his unshed tears fade. “You mind readin’ to me for a bit?” Eggsy asks.</p><p>“Of course,” Harry answers, giving his hand a comforting squeeze before going to fetch his book. As he comes back, he reckons that this is a start.</p><p>Even if it’s not what he imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest thank you and hugs to the magical Bre, whose beta powers keep me from making a fool of myself. Thank you to Leah, Mo, and Zin for their tireless cheerleading and to Ronald for always yelling at me. To everyone who has endured this series, you have my unending gratefulness.

Harry Hart is not ashamed of much, especially when it comes to admitting that he has a good cry when Dr. Hanover is checking Eggsy over.

However, it is done in the privacy of his assigned guestroom, secluding himself in the bathroom where he can shut the door and feel the touch of cool tiles seeping into his clothes. He can hardly believe he’s held up this long. Nearly five days of agonized waiting, praying to a god that Harry is uncertain even exists and hoping beyond hope that he will hear Eggsy’s voice again.

Now that it’s happened the tears come, mucus accompanying them in all their soppy, wet glory. Grief is a messy business and he’s lucky that he’s had the foresight to pocket a handkerchief in his trousers.

Harry likens his emotions to a freshly uncorked bottle of Krug, overflowing and endless. He sobs and sobs until his throat is tender and aching, windpipe threatening to collapse from the next sound it emits.

His knees are pressed uncomfortably into his body, containing his heart and his fear that threatens to burst forth from his chest cavity. He feels as if everything careens towards him like a train or a storm, pulling him down and drowning him. Harry _should_ be relieved, which he is.

So utterly relieved and happy to see the greens of Eggsy’s beautiful eyes, hear the rasp of his voice, and the beginnings of a tired smile.

A boy nearly half his age and Eggsy is able to muster enough strength to show his fatigued delight at Harry’s appearance by his bedside.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, allowing for the final indulgence of being a right mess. They become wet just like the rest of his face and mouth, the saltiness of his tears bitter on his tongue.

All he can think about is Eggsy.

 _Eggsy._ Lovely, maddening, stubborn Eggsy who is nothing short of extraordinary.

Harry was an idiot for leaving him. An absolute fucking idiot.

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Merlin says later when Harry’s back is starting to ache and his tear ducts have run dry. He’s holding a fresh handkerchief with the Kingsman emblem stitched into the corner and dangles it within his reach.

Harry tugs on it, watching it fall gracefully onto his fingers. “Thank you,” he replies, all stuffed up.

Under Merlin’s watchful eyes, he goes about putting himself back together; blowing his nose and rising to his feet to run some water over his face.

He catches his reflection in the oval-shaped mirror: knackered, as he expected, and looking as if he aged overnight. “What did Xavier say?” Harry inquires carefully, meeting Merlin’s eyes in the glass.

“You weep like a teenaged girl who’s been told that One Direction has broken up,” his friend deadpans.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Be serious.”

“I _am_ ,” Merlin retorts, seemingly insulted. “Don’t you know who they are? No?” He hums a few bars of a melody that sounds like all of the other pop garbage Harry has heard on the radio. “You’re out of touch.”

He goes to wipe his hands, withholding the string of curses upon his tongue while shaking his head in indifference.

“We’re looking at six months recovery time,” Merlin tells him, his playfulness gone. “Losing a kidney is serious business, even though nature has been kind enough to bless us with a spare. Paired sepsis and fever—Eggsy is in…” He pauses, looking quite thoughtful even for him. “Well, He’s certainly in for it.”

Harry braces himself against the sink, curling his fingers against the porcelain. “Physio and therapy sessions up to his eyeballs, I imagine.”

“Further than British Empire can touch,” Merlin adds. He folds his arms over his sweater vest and sighs. “Xavier's just finished up with him, so you may go see him now. I should warn you: Eggsy was getting a bit drowsy when I left in search of you.”

He goes to nod, though his head never quite makes it all the way up and lingers to stare at the drain. “When I pictured our reconciliation, it was never like this,” Harry confesses.

“Really? What did it entail—lots of fucking, Indian takeaway, and old movies while it poured rain outside?” his friend asks.

He barely suppresses an eye roll. Just barely. “Lots of screaming and yelling,” Harry tells him, slowly turning around. The sky has turned into a lovely shade of lavender, indicating twilight has come. “Perhaps a punch or two. A trip to the hardware store for spackle and a quart of paint. Definitely, use of a first aid kit.”

Merlin smirks. “Ah, a true romantic you are, Harry Hart.”

“Eggsy won’t forgive me easily,” he reminds his friend. The truth hurts, a stabbing sensation directly to his solar plexus, but Harry can no longer avoid it. “I have broken his heart and now have nearly gotten him killed.”

The other man shrugs. “Death-defying acts are a part of our business.”

“He lost a _kidney_ , Hamish.”

“He _has_ another!”

Harry groans as he feels a bit of a headache coming on. “There are days I wonder why I am still friends with you.”

“Who else would put up with you after thirty years?” Merlin asks, raises his brows. “Who would put up with _me_ , for that matter? We’re stuck with each other, as I see it.”

He finds himself grinning, even though he doesn’t want to. Merlin has always had that effect on him, the bastard, and that’s partially why Harry became friends with him. “You may recall when I had less grey hair.”

“And when I _had_ hair,” Merlin sighs, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders and walking him out of the bathroom.

He rubs his friend’s bald head. “It’s a very dignified look you’ve created,” he assures. “One part Winston Churchill, another Lord Voldemort.”

“Oi!” Merlin shouts over Harry’s laughter, his Scottish brogue thicker in his annoyance. “Comparin’ me to a bleedin’ snake! You’re an arsehole, you are!”

They step into the hallway, heading towards Eggsy’s suite. “I’ll have you know that Sir Churchill was not a snake, but our very first Merlin from 1921 until his death,” Harry teases. “There is a rumor that it came down between him and Charles Edward, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who would later join the Nazi Party. Apparently being a graceful loser is not a gene passed down through that side of the royal family.”

“For fuck’s sake,” his friend groans, slapping his palm to his forehead. “Not _another_ history lesson.”

Harry squeezes the back of his neck. “Our history is important, Hamish. Many great men and women have walked through these halls; we ought to remember their service.”

“Wanker,” Merlin hisses under his breath like his means it.

Except they both know he doesn’t, not even a little bit.

 

* * *

 

Merlin’s forewarning of Eggsy’s drowsiness is correct and requires no further embellishments when Harry enters the suite.

The young man is fast asleep now, snoring softly through pursed lips as JB rests his head upon his master’s stomach. The dog raises the brows of his large brown eyes upon Harry’s arrival and wiggles his charcoal colored nose.

“It’s just Harry,” Michelle Unwin assures, scratching behind the pug’s black ears. He turns his attention to her, chuffing in reply. “Silly little boy! It’s okay, JB.”

The animal casts another solemn glance in Harry’s direction before deciding that this man means no harm and continues his nap on top of Eggsy.

“He seems to have made himself at home,” he comments, forcing a smile as he draws closer to the young man’s bedside.

Michelle smiles fondly at her son and his pet. “Eggsy’s fault, of course,” she says. She leans forward to brush errant locks of hair off her son’s forehead. “JB always sleeps with him, though we have plenty of dog beds around the house. They’re used for toy storage most of the time.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Eggsy, noting that his skin has lost the pallor of near death, for which he is forever grateful. The nasal cannula still makes an appearance, much to Harry’s chagrin, probably more precautionary than anything else, and brushes against high, sculpted cheekbones.

To be ailing is not an ideal condition, but it’s far better than being dead. The healing process is a tedious one and tests the will of even the most patient of persons. Having watched Eggsy go through it before, Harry has a feeling that he’ll be less than pleased about it.

Not to mention having to resolve the situation between them.

Harry isn’t sure which will be more difficult.

 

* * *

 

Long after Michelle and JB have gone home for the night, Harry finds himself keeping his vigil over Eggsy while the young man sleeps.

Rationality tells him that the worst is over, though he cannot bring himself to leave. Harry takes his supper in the young man’s room, watching every movement—or lack thereof—as he cuts into the tenderest turkey he’s had in ages. The kitchen at Kingsman is on par with many Michelin-rated restaurants, probably better if the public were privy to the organization’s existence.

In other circumstances Harry would be able to enjoy himself and delight in his meal; however, Eggsy’s wellbeing is at the forefront of his mind. He could be ingesting cow turds and not care, though, on second thought, that would be rather foul.

While dinner is being cleared away, he goes back to his room to ready himself for bed. It’s an abbreviated version of his usual routine, which involves a relaxing shower and lounging about, and Harry is back by the young man’s bedside before the hour is finished. He has a book in hand and his reading glasses.

Dr. Hanover is there when he arrives, making note of Eggsy’s vitals and entering them into his tablet. “Good evening, Harry,” he says without bothering to look up.

“Likewise, Xavier,” the other man replies, heading towards the couch. He sits down and busies himself with his book. After several unproductive minutes of reading, Harry removes his glasses.

The doctor glances up from the device in his hands. “Galahad won’t die anytime soon, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Xavier tells him, dourly. “Unless he disobeys my orders for bed rest, though I doubt he will be able to get out on his own. Galahad was hardly able to stay awake earlier.”

“Hmm,” Harry says noncommittally. “He did just lose a vital organ.”

“Well, yes,” Dr. Hanover sighs. “And nearly gave himself blood poisoning, not to mention his run-in with Miss Delacroix’s toxin. Galahad doesn’t do things by halves.”

Harry shrugs. “He gives everything his all.” It’s part of the reason why he submitted Eggsy for candidacy, despite Chester’s objections. The decision has been the best one he ever made during the course of his fifty-plus years on Earth.

“Well, he certainly does a fair job of it,” the doctor mutters. He taps the tablet’s screen and tucks it under his arm. “I bid you both a good night.”

Harry drops his book on the couch and goes to Eggsy’s bedside once the door shuts behind Xavier. Not much has changed from the last time he was here; the young man is still resting and he’s just as sorry as ever.

“I can feel ya starin’ at me,” Eggsy comments, scaring Harry half to death. His eyebrows furrow long before his lids finally open. Blinking away the last visages of sleep, Eggsy turns to the older man. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Harry greets, moving closer. “I’m surprised to see you awake.”

The lad’s green eyes slip under his lids with a deep sigh. Harry believes for the briefest of moments that Eggsy has fallen back asleep again until they open once more. “Hanover woke me with his fussin’ ‘bout,” he grumbles. “I’ll have you know he has no respect for the sick. He’d make a crap spy if he ever was one.”

Harry chuckles as he goes to rest his elbows on the mattress. “You will be pleased to know that he was never up for candidacy for that very reason.”

“Perhaps they’ll let me become the janitor or summat, with all the mess I created.”

“Doubtful,” Harry replies. “You did them a favor by allowing Kingsman the opportunity to take out Vesper Delacroix, even though the method was a bit unorthodox.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes, clearly doubtful of this. “You’s sayin’ they would have done it eventually?”

“Correct. Sometimes events move ahead in Kingsman’s scheduling, but that’s life, as they say,” Harry tells him. He yearns to touch the young man, just to ensure that Eggsy is truly there. His judgment, however, keeps Harry from doing so.

Eggsy’s fingers flex on his stomach. “You haven’t asked how I was feelin’.”

“I thought you would be sick of the question,” Harry answers. “And I suspect you are feeling like shit.”

“Wouldn’t you know it, I feel like a million bucks?” Eggsy quips, smiling weakly. The fact that he’s able to joke about his current condition eases a bit of Harry’s worry. “You’re right though, bruv; am sick of answerin’ that question. How do they think I’m supposed to feel? Like I could run the course out back?”

Harry shrugs, shaking his head. “Human nature is strange,” he reasons. “Though I think everyone knows it will be some time before you’re tackling the obstacle course.”

“Yeah, Hanover told my mum,” the young man grumbles. “Six months recovery time. Things could be worse, I suppose.”

“You could be dead.”

Eggsy pulls a face. “I _said_ things could be worse,” he snaps, irritated by Harry’s statement, before turning away to pout. The lad’s profile is sharper than usual, thus making his cheeks appear sunken in.

As silence falls around them, Harry wonders if he’s ruined things before he’s had the chance to fix them. Against his better judgment, he reaches out to clasp the hand over Eggsy’s slightly swollen stomach. He avoids the pulse ox attached to the young man’s index finger, allowing his grip to be loose enough for Eggsy to remove himself if he should so wish.

“I apologize if I have further upset you,” he says. Harry sighs and hangs his head. “I know that I have damaged our relationship - perhaps irrevocably. If you’d allow it, I would like to try to mend things between us.”

Eggsy doesn’t remove his hand and, rather surprisingly, runs his thumb over one of Harry’s knuckles. “I’m still pissed at you,” he whispers.

“You have every right to be,” Harry tells him as their stares meet.

The younger man’s lips are pursed into a thin line, though his eyes are visibly wetter than they appeared a moment ago. He sniffles, blinking rapidly until his unshed tears fade. “You mind readin’ to me for a bit?” Eggsy asks.

“Of course,” Harry answers, giving his hand a comforting squeeze before going to fetch his book. As he comes back, he reckons that this is a start.

Even if it’s not what he imagined.

 

* * *

 

Healing is a tedious exercise.

To endure it is long, but to observe a loved one left to the same fate taxes Harry’s nerves. He’s watched Eggsy have to go through it once before. The injuries, while serious, were less severe than the ones the young man sustained in Berlin.

However, this time around is far more nerve wrecking.

The young man’s health is in a constant state of flux; Eggsy will have a few good days in a row where he’ll be able to hobble about the room and gently play tug of war with JB before it all goes to shit.

What follows are days of never-ending sleep, irritability, or pain. Sometimes all three if Eggsy is really unlucky.

Still unable to sleep in his own room, Harry is all too familiar with being woken up in the middle of the night by Eggsy’s agonized shrieks. He’s had his hand squeezed in a proverbial death grip while he pages for medical assistance and held the garbage bin for the young man to retch into when the occasion called for it.

Harry doesn’t bother with the sappy sweet words meant to ease Eggsy’s suffering; they both know the depths of pain and well-meaning assurances won’t hold it at bay. He sits at the edge of the mattress, watching as the lad’s skin pales considerably and his body trembles until one of the medical staff empty a syringe into Eggsy’s IV port. The young man’s grip loosens considerably, followed by the heavy drop of his eyelids despite his best efforts to prevent it.

As the nurse checks his vitals, the older man leans closer to the knight’s bleary expression and quietly asks, “Is that helping, Galahad?”

“Mhm,” Eggsy mumbles after swallowing. It’s clear that he’s fading quickly even with the valiant effort put forth to keep himself awake.

Harry turns to the nurse. “Perhaps we should get him a bit more comfortable before…” He nods towards their patient, offering a helpful smile.

That’s how Eggsy ends up falling asleep in the crook of Harry’s neck, breathing hot puffs of air against the older man’s skin. They fall upon the exact spot where, not long ago, Eggsy tenderly sucked and nibbled love bites into Harry’s flesh.

He recalls the scrape of teeth followed by the soothing sensation of the lad’s tongue and throaty laughter. Years ago Harry would have chastised him for daring to leave marks upon a lover’s skin; instead, he had drawn the young man into a kiss.

To kiss Eggsy now would be too much, too intimate, especially after what he has put him through.

Staying safe, Harry rubs circles over the middle of Eggsy’s back. He no longer recoils when the padding of gauze and bandages meets his palm. They are covered by pajamas, though it is still not all that comforting.

Just knowing where the young man’s wounds lay twists at Harry’s insides.

“All set,” the nurse tells him, keeping her voice at a whisper.

She holds the covers at bay while Harry gently lies Eggsy upon the mattress cover and slips his arm from around his neck. It drops to his side while the nurse begins tucking the young man in. Eggsy sighs contently in his slumber, turning his head to the side.

Harry spends the rest of the night in an armchair that he’s pulled over to the bed. Late into the morning, he wakes to the sensation of being watched and finds himself opening his eyes to Eggsy.

“It’s not proper for a bloke to prop his feet up without askin’,” the young man teases in a raspy voice. His lips curl into a slow, dimpled grin that brightens the rest of his face.

Seeing it appear once again causes Harry’s heart to flutter.

It appears that someone has come in and helped him sit up, placing several pillows behind him so that the young man can recline with ease. Harry notices that bits of Eggsy’s light brown hair are matted or, alternatively, curled into peaks from the night before. He resembles a young boy rather than a fierce, capable agent.

“It’s also not polite for one to stare,” Harry chides, moving his long legs to the floor.

“Wasn’t starin’ for long,” Eggsy admits after he’s yawned. “Why didn’t you go back to the couch, bruv?”

Harry spares a glance at the aforementioned piece of furniture, stuff ruffled by his hasty departure to the lad’s bedside, and shrugs. “I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says truthfully.

He’s treading dangerously as Eggsy’s moods fluctuate just as much as his recovery. He goes from sedate to moderately exasperated to snappish and difficult with no warning. There have been times where the lad has shouted Harry and Michelle out of the sick room because of an innocent comment.

The most volatile ones are reserved specifically for Harry.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks while trying to gauge the young man’s reaction.

Eggsy clears his throat and shrugs. “Like I’m high as a kite,” he answers. “Hanover is a bit _too_ liberal with the drugs, dontcha reckon?”

“I can’t argue that,” Harry says, recalling all the times that Xavier treated him in medical. “Perhaps he believes it will make us easier to deal with.”

The young man snorts in agreement. “We’re a difficult lot. Runnin’ amok and blowin’ up shit, then waltzin’ in to be patched up.”

“Striding, perhaps. Even sauntering, but _never_ waltzing, my dear boy,” Harry teases. “Waltzing is a smooth, progressive ballroom dance. The way that a gentleman woos the object of his affection.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes, chuckling. The sound is aborted, as Harry suspects that full laughter would result in the young man being in terrible pain. “You mean his matin’ call?”

“A gentleman,” the older man begins to say, “does not need a mating call. We are not animals, for god’s sake!”

“Speak for yourself, bruv,” Eggsy tells him.

Harry raises a brow. “You are no more an animal than I am the Queen of England.”

 

* * *

 

When he returns from his temporary quarters, Harry finds that Eggsy has visitors.

It is not unusual, as the young man is well loved by those around him. A toddler’s delighted laughter is what ends up surprising Harry. Michelle has kept her youngest child away from her oldest as it seems that Daisy has an inclination for climbing.  _Especially_ climbing all over Eggsy as if he was a human playground.

“Easy, Daisy love,” Michelle tells her daughter. “Play gently.”

Eggsy hushes his mother before going back to pretending that he’s chomping on the little girl’s chubby hand, her giggles filling the room. “Nom, nom,” he teases, planting a kiss in the center of her palm. “So yummy!”

“Eggy!” Daisy chirps, tilting over to reach for her brother’s face while Michelle keeps her from falling onto his stomach. “Eggy!”

“Don’t your sister rile up,” Michelle chides, shooting Eggsy an expression that could be described as both fond and exasperated. “Or you’re going to end up regretting it when she falls on your stomach.” 

He huffs a begrudging sigh. “Fine,” the young man replies, holding onto Daisy’s hands. “Do you want to watch some telly with your big brother, hmm? How’s that, my little flower? We could watch some _Great British Bake Off_.”

Harry observes Michelle settling Daisy into the crook of Eggsy’s arm and smoothing down her golden blonde curls before doing the same to her son. The lad takes it in stride, closing his eyes as his mother’s fingers run through his hair.

“Let me find the remote,” Michelle tells her children while turning around and spotting Harry. “Oh, hello!”

He nods in greeting. “Afternoon,” Harry says. He takes a tentative step towards the bed, not wanting to frighten the little girl. He’s never been great with children; interacting with them leaves Harry feeling awkward and stuttering.

It is pure luck that Daisy is preoccupied with her brother and clapping her hands into one of his large palms. She laughs when Eggsy taps the neat tip of her nose, burying her face in his side. “It’s just a tiny human, Harry,” Eggsy tells him, taking a moment away from his sister and giving him a cheeky grin. “She don’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about Miss Daisy’s manners,” he says, coming closer, “but mine.”

Eggsy casts a dubious stare in his direction.

“Children are not my forte,” Harry admits, sheepishly. The little girl realizes that another person has joined them and turns her big blue eyes upon him. “Hello.”

Daisy looks back at Eggsy, her tiny forehead wrinkled in a frown. “That’s Harry, love,” the young man assures her, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. Clearly, clapping her brother’s palms is far more interesting than his friend.

“That went better than I expected,” Harry says, offering Eggsy a smile. “Usually they cry.”

“The great Harry Hart brought to his knees by a baby,” he snorts.

Harry doesn’t disagree. He ends up passing a quiet afternoon in Eggsy’s room, watching the telly and immersing himself in the ridiculousness of reality shows. He listens to the good-natured banter between the young man and his mother, which is interrupted by Daisy.

During the third hour, Eggsy and his sister fall asleep in nearly identical positions. Their heads are tilted away from Harry and Michelle while their held hands rest between the chasms of their bodies. It seems this is a natural state for the siblings, leading Harry to wonder about the young man’s life beyond Kingsman.

He knows from what little Eggsy has said about his home life that he is Daisy’s father figure and dotes upon the little girl.

There is sweetness in watching them slumber, unaware of the world’s dangers or, in Eggsy’s case, pain. It seems that Michelle is right to bring Daisy to him, as it’s brightened his demeanor considerably.

Another hour passes and she decides it’s time to leave. With years of practice, she removes Daisy from Eggsy’s limp grasp without waking either of them and places her daughter in the stroller. “I can’t wait until he’s back home,” Michelle tells Harry as she settles Daisy into the seat and tucks a blanket around her. “Both of us will be quite happy.”

Harry glances down at the sleeping child. “Yes, well, they certainly adore each other.”

He half expects her to confront him about the obvious feelings Harry has for her son. Perhaps even admonish him for being more than twice Eggsy’s age, but Michelle does no such thing. Instead, she quietly packs up her belongings and gives her son a kiss before leaving.

A cab waits for them at the front steps of the Kingsman mansion, where Harry assists Michelle in converting the stroller into a car seat. Daisy slumbers on all the while, not even batting a lash as the adults fuss over her.

He watches them leave, heading back to the noise and crowds of London, back to their little home not far from his former residence.

Harry waits until the cab is a tiny speck on the horizon before going back inside. As he ventures into Eggsy’s room, he wonders how long Kingsman’s hospitality will last.

Certainly, Arthur will ask Xavier to determine whether or not Harry is fit for active field duty. Once the final report is back, he will be given a Kingsman-issued home just like before. His belongings have been put into storage, thanks to Merlin’s kindness, so he’s not without.

Instead of going to Eggsy, Harry wanders through the mansion while deep in thought. He never imagined coming back here, especially after what transpired in Kentucky. He had thought himself useless and that everyone would be better off without him.

Now that he’s walking through familiar corridors and sights, Harry realizes how wrong he had been. He’s always needed to be here, more than ever with Eggsy recovering on the other side of the mansion.

Harry heads in that direction, his heart speeding up as he draws closer to the young man’s temporary quarters. What a fool he had been, believing that Eggsy would change his mind about being with him. That the lad’s feelings would be as erratic as any other man his age.

That Harry was undeserving of him, especially in present circumstances.

He comes to the closed door of Eggsy’s room, hesitant as he reaches for the brass knob. While his hand curls around the cool metal, Harry sighs. If the most recent events have taught him anything, it’s that Harry must be brave.

So brave he shall be.

 

* * *

 

After two and a half weeks in Dr. Hanover’s care, Eggsy is released to his mother while Harry meets with Arthur.

Wearing a pinstripe suit and complementary red tie from his personal stores, he appears to look like any other Kingsman agent; immaculate, polished, and dignified. All that is missing from Harry’s person is the standard-issued glasses, signet, and lethal oxfords.

He stands in the Round Table room, a place he has not set foot in for nearly a year. The setting is largely unchanged from the last time, though the atmosphere is certainly less constricting now that Jenny is at the helm. Her portrait is a glorious piece of work, leaving Harry impressed with how the artist captured the new Arthur’s personality, right down to the mischievous glint in her eyes and coquettish smirk.

Next to the frame encasing her oil paint and canvas twin is Chester King’s, hidden by a cloth of dense black. Harry notes that the brass name plaque that adorns a small portion of the wall underneath other portraits has been removed from the former knight’s.

“It’s to remember where we came from,” Arthur says as she comes into the room. She wears a bespoke pantsuit of lavender, the color flattering to her fair complexion. “And that despite our best intentions, there are those who sully our history.”

Harry nods in agreement. “A fair and respectful tribute,” he comments.

“My other option was to burn it,” Arthur tells him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she motions to the table. “Please have a seat, Mr. Hart.”

He finds it’s strange to be in this room, a place that he’s come to recognize as a fourth home—second being Kingsman headquarters with Merlin’s flat in a very close third—and to be called his given name rather than the one bestowed upon him all those years ago.

Ever the gentleman, he pulls Arthur’s seat out for her and pushes it in when she gives him a nod. Harry goes to a chair to her right, watching as she opens her tablet protector and turns the device on.

“I suspect you know that this meeting is about your status as a Kingsman agent,” she says, not bothering to mince words.

He nods. “I suspected as much, ma’am.”

“Good,” Arthur states, looking up from the tablet. “I have spoken with the other knights and it has been decided that your performance in retrieving Galahad was exemplary. You will be placed on a probationary period in which you will report to Xavier so he may perform health and psychiatric evaluations, during which you will remain at the mansion until we can provide you with housing. ”

Harry releases a breath, feeling a bit of relief at her words. True, it’s not an ideal situation—having to be poked, prodded, and forced to speak about his feelings—but it allows him the opportunity to prove himself.

And to show Kingsman that he isn’t about to fuck off again; not with Eggsy having wormed his way into Harry’s bitter heart.

“If Xavier deems that you are not eligible for field work, you will be assigned to the mansion. Either way, you will be reinstalled with a new designation,” Arthur continues. She tilts her head, gauging Harry’s reaction to this news. “It would be unseemly to revoke Galahad’s name.”

He clears his throat. “I agree,” he says. “I daresay that he’s more than earned it and has no doubt made his predecessors proud.”

“You submitted him for candidacy; does he not make you proud?” she pointedly asks.

“Galahad exceeded my expectations,” Harry replies, humbled by his own words. “I couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome.”

Arthur scoffs. “Harry,” she sighs, placing the tablet face down on the table. “For fuck’s sake, be _honest_. I am not Chester and you will get no admonishment from me.”

“Are you inquiring about whether I plan to pursue a more personal relationship with him?”

She shrugs. “You wouldn’t be the first, that’s for certain. Had James not gotten himself cut in half, I daresay he and Percival would have gone off into retirement and died as a pair of old queens.”

“I doubt that Galahad would be as careless,” Harry mutters, tapping his index finger against the wooden surface of the table. “Nor I, to be sure.”

“Well, I certainly hope not!” Arthur snaps. Her eyes narrow as she frowns. “You’ve already lived through a bullet to your head, it would be a shame if you got yourself quartered.”

Harry smirks. “I would prefer to stay in one piece, thank you, Genevieve.”

“That cheeky grin won’t work on me, Harry,” she tells him, smiling despite her frank statement. “I’ve known you for far too long. You are in love with that young man.” Arthur shoots him a look when he goes say something about it. “I didn’t need Hamish or anyone else to tell me; I can see it with my own eyes.”

He rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to deny it if that’s what you were wondering,” Harry counters.

Arthur raises a questioning brow. “I’m surprised that you didn’t attempt to reschedule our meeting so you could see Galahad home.”

“He made no mention of wanting my presence, so I did not ask.”

“For a man who spent no longer than an hour away from the lad’s bedside, you give up easily, Harry Hart.”

Harry frowns at the accusation. “I have not given up!” he snarls before remembering that Arthur is his superior. Clearing his throat, he straightens his posture. “Please accept my apologies for my tone; it was wholly uncalled for, ma’am.”

“ _Tosh_ ,” Arthur says dismissively. “My comment was rude and unnecessary. We are both at fault.”

Silence falls between them, each left to their thoughts. “It is difficult to tell Eggsy of my feelings,” Harry admits, cutting into the atmosphere. “I thought it would be easier once he regained his health, but it is not so.”

“In my experience, there is never an opportune moment to tell one of their feelings,” Arthur gently tells him. Reaching across the table, she pats his hand. “Finding the right words, on the other hand, is the hard part.”

Harry nods. “If only they came easily.”


	2. Chapter 2

It is strange to lie in wait.

After all, that is what Harry is doing. Lying in wait to be cleared for active duty, pending the outcome of his medical tests. Being reduced to idle boredom is his own fault, as Harry is the one who ran away, and he curses his poor rationale nearly every hour.

He is no prisoner at the Kingsman headquarters, which is very clear. The facilities—including the black cabs—are at his disposal, should he want to leave the grounds. Arthur has not set a curfew, citing that Harry is a grown man and he is not under house arrest.

There are restrictions, of course; he is not allowed in the Round Table room or any classified areas until he has been reactivated.

Harry has little interest in what current missions are on the roster or the latest prototype Merlin is using to blow up the dummies in Sub Floor B. No, his only concern is Eggsy.

It’s been two days since the young man returned home and now Harry is venturing into London to see him. He hopes that the gap between their visits do not cause Eggsy to think that he’s uninterested; Harry only wanted to give him space.

He’s been hovering around the lad long enough and reckoned that he’d be sick of seeing his face.

The Unwin residence is a white mews house with navy shutters and a matching front door. Brightly colored flowers fill the planter’s boxes in the windows, which are tended with great care like the rest of the plant life in the front yard. The hedges and grass are neatly trimmed, though the former have shed due to the changing seasons.

As Harry approaches the front door, he takes note of the tasteful door mat and wreath, adding a touch of welcome and comfort for those who come to visit.

Shifting the two bouquets—one of comprised of peonies and the other of Gerber daisies—into one hand, Harry rings the doorbell.

Over the dainty chime, the sound of JB’s bark comes muffled through the door. The shuffle of feet and a child’s delighted squeal proceed the unlocking of the door. Michelle is holding Daisy in her arms, looking positively radiant as mother and daughter stand in the threshold.

“Well hello!” she greets, smiling at the flowers and cloth bag in Harry’s hand. Stepping aside, she motions him inside. “Come in, come in! Eggsy didn’t mention you were coming.”

Harry blushes sheepishly. “I’m afraid that this is an unexpected visit,” he admits, noticing how Daisy leans over in her mother’s arms in an attempt to inspect the flowers. He motions to the child’s namesake. “These are for you, Miss Daisy, and the peonies for your mum.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Michelle comments. She nods her head towards the direction of the kitchen. “Follow me. I was just fixing this one’s lunch.”

The inside of the house is the typical organized chaos of when one has a small child. Daisy’s presence is everywhere, whether it is the miniature coats hung upon the rack by the front door with her galoshes tucked underneath or a stray toy or two in the hallway. The rest of the Unwin residence has a note of refined decor with homey touches. Framed photographs are hung upon the walls and set on tables, showing a happy family and their pug.

“I thought I heard JB,” Harry mentions as they enter the kitchen.

Michelle nods as she puts Daisy into her high chair. “He’s keeping watch in Eggsy’s room,” she tells him, chuckling. “Let’s get those flowers a pair of vases.”

“How is he?” the man inquires, trying to keep his tone casual. He steps aside as Michelle comes over to the kitchen table with the aforementioned items, each of them filled with water. “Eggsy, that is.”

“Tired for the most part,” she replies while going about the task of putting the bouquets in the vases. “I reckon he might have fallen back asleep. Usually, you’d hear him telling JB to stop barking. You don’t have to fuss over us ladies, Mr. Hart. Why don’t you bring the bag and peek into his room?”

Harry reaches into the cloth bag, pulling out a bottle of wine. “I believe that Dr. Hanover will have many reservations over Eggsy drinking while on painkillers,” he teases.

“Ah,” Michelle says, smiling. “I am like to agree with you. I’ll put it away.”

“And where is his room?”

It turns out that Eggsy’s bedroom is on the first floor, just at the end of the hallway. The door is slightly ajar, allowing a television program to drift through as Harry draws closer. He raps his knuckles softly against the frame, waiting for the occupant to acknowledge him.

Instead, it’s JB’s chuff that greets Harry when he pushes the door open to behold an amusing sight.

Eggsy is just waking up when the older man crosses the threshold. The pug is walking over the mattress to be petted, taking care not to disturb his master. “Wasn’t expectin’ you,” Eggsy says once he’s yawned.

“I thought that a visit wouldn’t go amiss,” Harry states. “Unless you’d like me to leave.”

The young man shakes his head before attempting to push himself to a reclining position. Judging by the ill-concealed grimace on his face, it’s not an easy task. “Mind lendin’ a hand, bruv?”

“Not at all.”

Once Eggsy is propped by pillows and adjusting to the new position, Harry takes a seat on the bed. JB comes over, brushing his furry head against the older man’s hand. He indulges the pug by scratching behind his ears while the animal leans into him.

“He’s a glutton for attention, that one,” Eggsy comments with a chuckle. “And is better than a hot water bottle.”

Harry smiles. “He seems like the type who enjoys a good cuddle,” he says as JB decides to rest his head upon his knee.

“I thought that Arthur would have you under lock and key,” the young man quips.

“No, but I am fairly certain that Merlin implanted me with a tracking device while I was sleeping,” Harry jokes back, glancing up to see Eggsy watching him.

The rosiness of his complexion is returning, much to Harry’s silent thanks, as well as the brightness of his green eyes. Rather than wearing the Kingsman issued pajamas, he has on a faded t-shirt and sweatpants, thus appearing far more comfortable than he had been at the mansion.

It seems that being home seems to agree with the young man, even if it means that Harry may see less of him.

“You joke ‘bout it, but I wouldn’t put it past ‘im,” Eggsy deadpans as he wrinkles his nose. “Cheeky twist, even if he is a good mate.”

Harry smirks. “That he is,” he agrees, giving JB a final pet before the pug trots back over to his master. He curls up next to Eggsy’s thigh, resting his head upon it. “To both points.”

“So what are they goin’ to do with you?”

“I am undergoing a round of tests to ensure that my physical state is that of a Kingsman agent,” Harry answers with a shrug. “If Dr. Hanover determines that I’m not eligible, I will be assigned to a desk position. Probably a taskmaster, similar to Merlin’s role during your candidacy.”

Eggsy pulls a face. “You’ll be cleared,” he says optimistically.

“I’m glad one of us thinks so highly of me,” Harry replies. “They are taking… _recent_ events into consideration, of course, but that doesn’t automatically mean I’ll be back in the field.”

“You managed to subdue me with nothing but a piece of glass,” the young man snorts.

A flash of a Vienna rooftop at dusk and Eggsy’s eyes burning bright with unspeakable rage as he throws punch after punch. Harry recalls the demonic shout erupting from the knight’s lips, piercing the atmosphere like hellfire before the hot spill of blood wets his fingers.

 _Harry_ , the young man had questioned in a brief moment of lucidity.

Then he disappeared into the Danube, seemingly lost to darken waters and unpredictable tides.

“Harry?” Eggsy calls, uncertain, as his voice breaks through the older man’s thoughts.

When he blinks and realizes where he is, Harry notices the worried expression written on Eggsy’s face. “Yes?” he asks, forcing the terror-filled lump out of his throat. It feels like a scream, raw and broken like the glass he shoved into Eggsy’s side.

“You alright?”

The temptation to lie curls against his tongue. “I must go,” Harry says as he rises to his feet in a hurry. “I have an appointment with Xavier that slipped my mind.” He flashes the young man a tight smile. “Goodbye, Eggsy.”

He doesn’t hear the young man’s words, if they come, for the blood pounding against his eardrums is loud enough to drown out most sounds around him. It’s similar to the blind violence inside of a Kentucky church, of everything becoming white noise and his body moving in accordance with its own will.

He must find his way to a Kingsman cab, for the rumble of tires against asphalt punctuates itself through the fogginess of Harry Hart’s mind. He is thankful for his own foresight to call for one, even when he’s reeling from the memory of Eggsy disappearing into a river.

There had been no amount of screaming that could calm his frayed nerves or a broken heart. All that he could see was Eggsy’s pale face and his own blood staining his skin, then nothing.

Like he vanished without a trace.

Harry finds himself back in his temporary quarters back at Kingsman with the taste of vomit on his tongue. He’s bent over the toilet, gasping and sweating while his stomach clenches painfully.

“Press this against your forehead,” Merlin intones, which is followed by the coolness of a damp flannel over the upper portion of his face. “There you go.”

The toilet is flushed, taking Harry’s breakfast with it.

He sits in silence, willing his body to cooperate. A formidable headache is brewing between his temples and Harry wishes that he could crawl into a hole. “He said,” he whispers, swallowing back a sob. “He remembered the rooftop in Vienna…how I…”

“Aye,” Merlin assures, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Enough of that for now. Just focus on not spilling your gob all over the porcelain.”

He has a biting remark about how Merlin can go fuck himself, though, in the end, Harry listens to his friend; the only person he would allow to see him in this state. He groans as he rests his head on the toilet seat cover, closing his eyes while another flannel is placed upon the nape of his neck.

“I’m a right mess,” he murmurs, daring to open his eyes. The bathroom lights are off, thank goodness, but the sun is far too bright for his liking. If he didn’t mind how ridiculous he’d sound, Harry is certain he would ask Merlin to shut it off.

His friend pats his arm. “You are reacting like someone who had to use bodily force to protect themselves.”

“I stabbed him, Hamish,” Harry whispers. Tears sting his eyes for the first time since Eggsy woke. “I know twenty nerve pinches to render a person unconscious. Another forty to temporarily paralyze them, but did I use any of these? No; I grabbed the first thing I could and shoved it into him!”

His long brewing sob bubbles from his throat to his mouth, erupting in all its anguished glory. It comes out as a weak cry, the palest reflection of Harry’s emotions as he sits on the bathroom floor.

There is anger mixed in; at himself, at Vesper—whatever good that does— and at Eggsy.

Eggsy, whose words are Harry’s undoing, even if they weren’t meant to be said with cruelty.

“He’s the one who nearly died and I’m here blubbering like a wanker,” Harry hisses. He presses the flannel in his skin, feeling as his tears are soaked up by the fabric. “If I hadn’t…”

“Eggsy would still be exposed to whatever Vesper cooked up. Worse yet, you could have been killed when it finally activated,” Merlin counters. He squeezes the flannel over Harry’s nape. “It would be a shame to have you die twice, mate.”

Harry shudders a sigh. “But I left him.”

“Aye, but you’re forgetting something important,” the Scotsman says. “You came back to him.”

“For all the good it did,” Harry mumbles. He peels the flannel off to look Merlin in the eye. “I was worried about if he would forgive me and now I can hardly keep myself together.”

Merlin makes a disgruntled face. “You’ve been so busy head over tits worried about him, that you haven’t dealt with your own shit yet.” He gives Harry’s shoulder a good squeeze. “And don’t say you aren’t allowed to be upset or I’ll shoot you in the kneecaps.”

Harry knows that his friend will make good on his threat, as Merlin is not one to make them lightly. They sit in a companionable silence until he feels that he can stand without upsetting his stomach. Once Harry has washed out his mouth and brushed his teeth, they sit down in the guest suite where Merlin orders them a late lunch.

“What if I am unable to fix what’s happened?” Harry finally dares to ask.

“I doubt that’s the case,” Merlin tells him once he’s hung up the phone. “Will it take some time? Certainly.”

He pulls his cheek against his knuckles. “I don’t even know what to say to him without thinking of…” Harry closes his eyes, trying to block out grotesque images of Eggsy’s broken body. When he opens them, Merlin is looking upon him with concern. “I can’t even begin to apologize…”

“What happened to him was Vesper’s doing,” Merlin states, leaving no room for rebuttal.

Harry groans in defeat. “I am quite aware, but it doesn’t change what I did. I left him wondering what he did wrong…” He sets down his glass of water and busies himself with running his finger over the rim.

“Harry,” Merlin sighs, touching his arm. “We can beat this thing to death or you can bloody well call him, yeah?” He removes his glasses to wipe the lenses. “Because I’ve got to be honest with you, mate, I’m sick of hearing about it.”

 

* * *

 

The thing about Eggsy is that he’s more perceptive than most people his age.

Harry isn’t entirely surprised when he’s told by one of the house staff that the young man is holding on the line, waiting to speak with him. “Patch him through,” he says, adding his thanks.

He sets down the book he’s been staring at for the better part of an hour just as the phone merrily rings. Harry has no idea what he’s about to walk into, but he reasons that it’s the same with the missions he had been assigned by Kingsman.

There is more on the line this time around; Eggsy has a magical pull at his heartstrings and the power to decimate.

“This is Harry Hart,” he says into the receiver of the antique candlestick phone.

“What the fuck was that?” Eggsy growls inelegantly. His chav accent is thicker when he’s angry, something that should repel the older man. It does the opposite, causing Harry to fall deeper in love with him. “You come over bearin’ gifts and fuck off as soon as I open my mouth!”

Harry shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. “When you mentioned our encounter in Vienna, I was overwhelmed by what happened,” he answers. “All I pictured was you looking at me like I was a ghost and then disappearing into the Danube.” He swallows at the memory, willing it to go away. “It undoubtedly was one of the worst nights I’ve ever experienced, you being shot being the first.”

“Oh,” the young man whispers, dumbfounded. Perhaps he expected more excuses with fancy words and the usual flourish. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I know that the saying is old and tired, but you weren’t yourself,” Harry says. He hears Eggsy’s chuckle on the other end. It’s faint, as if the knight is trying to hide it, but it’s there and filled with warmth. “You should take advantage of it while you still can.”

A snort comes through, loud and clear. “Not really my style,” Eggsy tells him. “Can’t even go into the kitchen without my mum getting all soppy when she looks at me. You lose _one_ vital organ and people go tits up!”

Harry’s laughter comes on suddenly, erupting at the young man’s joke. “My dear boy, it just shows you how much you mean to those around you,” he says once he’s composed himself. His waterline is damp with amused tears, which are easily dabbed away with his handkerchief.

“It's good to hear you laugh, bruv,” Eggsy whispers, like it’s a secret between them.

“Even if it’s at your expense?”

He scoffs. “Call it self-deprecation or summat.”

“A very tried and true method, I suppose,” Harry tells him. He sinks his cheek against the receiver, listening to Eggsy’s breathing coming through. The hushed reminder of a promise he made at the young man’s bedside; to apologize and tell Eggsy of his feelings once he pulled through.

“Eggsy,” Harry intones, noting how easily the lad’s name rolls off his tongue. “I want to say how sorry I am for what I did; hurting you so deeply. I won’t tell you that it wasn’t my intention because that would be a load of bollocks and I refuse to lie to you. Honestly, I have no idea what I was thinking beyond the fact that I am a selfish prick who is so deeply in love with you and it frightened me. It is no excuse for how I treated you and if you would be amendable, I would be honored if you gave me a chance to show you how much you mean to me.”

He doesn’t intend it to sound so robust since Harry never rehearsed what he would tell the lad. It sounds like something from a Jane Austen novel and he is Mister Darcy telling Elizabeth Bennet to end his agony. Fearing that he may have come off as a berk, Harry goes to say something when Eggsy replies.

“You might be a selfish prick,” the young man tells him, “but I love you too.”

Harry chuckles. “I’m glad you agree, darling.”

 

* * *

 

The developing relationship between himself and Eggsy becomes less stilted following their mutual confession.

Harry finds that he can breathe easier around the lad, for the last bit of his guilt has unfurled. He suspects he’ll always feel a measure of responsibility for what happened to Eggsy, even if it goes unsaid. From the moment he saw the young man as a boy, Harry has always felt the push to provide for him and he reckons that it’s high time he gets to know Eggsy for the adult he’s become.

“How the hell are you a spy, bruv?” the lad teases while they play a video game, one which Harry is failing miserably at. “You’re ‘bout to get blown up!”

He rolls his eyes as he frantically taps the controller. “I will have you know that dismantling a bomb is far different in reality than in pixelated form…BOLLOCKS!”

Eggsy laughs while Harry’s character, a soldier with highly unrealistic combat gear, gets blown to pieces in a ball of fiery glory. The young man bends forward, holding his stomach as his face turns pink. For a moment, Harry believes him to be in pain until Eggsy’s amused face tells him otherwise.

“Oh, shit!” the lad cackles, dropping his controller onto the bed. “That is the fuckin’ funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Harry casts a dour expression in Eggsy’s direction, unable to keep it for long. To see the young man so carefree, even if his video game misstep is the source of it, warms him to the core. “Laugh as you may,” Harry mutters while trying to hide his grin. “But remember who holds the record in the training course.”

“It’s not very gentlemanly to gloat,” Eggsy fires back between chuckles.

“Overrated,” he retorts, chucking the controller onto the bed. “So this is how you spend your time when you aren’t at headquarters?”

The young man shakes his head. “Usually I’m runnin’ ‘round with Daisy and JB. That’s off the table for a bit,” he says with a gesture to his middle. Harry imagines that Eggsy’s abdomen is still swollen and discolored to varying degrees. “Now we just have nap time.”

“Rest does promote healing, or so Xavier tells us,” Harry replies.

“He probably says that to keep us from botherin’ ‘im,” the young man snorts. “Hanover was here yesterday; pokin’ my stomach and side while askin’ if it hurt.” He rolls his eyes. “Which it does, _of course_! I worry ‘bout that bloke; practicin’ medicine without havin’ the honor of being shot at.”

Harry grins. “Could you imagine him injured?” he questions. “Xavier would never stop bitching for all that he yells at us.”

“I don’t even want to think about it!” Eggsy groans as he turns off the video game, allowing the room to be freed of its ridiculous music. The action of moving forward causes a grimace to appear on his face. “Bloody hell. You’d think I’d be able to move better by now.”

The older man is on his feet and by the lad’s bedside. “Let’s rearrange some things, shall we? Unless you’d rather lie down for a while,” Harry offers.

Eggsy decides on the latter, having grown tired of kicking Harry’s arse in video game combat. Once he’s comfortably situated and is being covered by an ancient handmade blanket, he tugs on Harry’s wrist. “You’ll stay for a bit, yeah?”

“If you’d like,” the older man says. “I don’t want to intrude on your rest.”

“You ain’t intrudin’,” Eggsy insists. “Besides, it’s too quiet with mum, Daisy, and JB went off on a playdate.”

Harry admits that the Unwin household is far more silent than usual. Sitting down on the mattress, he leans against the headboard while Eggsy rolls to his side, clutching a pillow against his middle. Sighing, the older man runs his fingers through the lad’s hair, soothing it away from his forehead. “The quiet can be good,” Harry intones. “Only on certain occasions.”

“Hm,” Eggsy hums, closing his eyes as he adjusts his head. “Don’t mind so much when you’re ‘round.”

He chuckles. “What about when Roxy comes by?” he inquires. “Certainly you enjoy her company.”

A pair of green eyes glances up at him from beneath a fan of lashes. “Obviously,” he says. “She’s my best mate. Though she kicks my arse in _Assassin’s Creed_ , unlike someone I know.” Eggsy pouts his bottom lip. “Roxy gloats ‘bout for ages, she does!”

“My poor darling,” Harry teases, rubbing his thumb over Eggsy’s brow. “So mistreated, you are.”

“Just wait until I tell her about _you_ , bruv,” the young man retorts. He is following Harry’s movements with great curiosity. Licking his lips, Eggsy raises the brow under the older man’s finger. “What thoughts are runnin’ through that head of yours?”

Harry finds himself staring at the slick flesh of the young man’s mouth, slightly darkened and chapped; all there for the taking if he should want it. His thumb travels down the lovely curve of Eggsy’s jaw, crossing over until he’s tracing the line of his bottom lip. “I would like to kiss you,” Harry tells him, whispering his confession like a secret. “If you are amenable to it.”

The lad’s Adam’s apple bobs with his audible gulp while hot breath curls against Harry’s thumb. “You can’t take it back like before,” Eggsy murmurs. “You can’t kiss me and leave again…”

“No,” Harry states harsher than he intended. The thought of _willingly_ leaving Eggsy again…it’s not in the cards. He doesn’t want to think of it or imagine how empty his life would be without the young man by his side; it’s too much to bear. “I’m never leaving you, my darling.”

Eggsy closes the distance between them, tilting his head up until Harry feels the whisper of the young man’s lips against his own. He tastes of a sweetness that Harry cannot define and the hint of something with a citrus flavor. An orange, perhaps? It doesn’t matter except that he needs more, so he presses closer.

Harry minds Eggsy’s body, knowing that the wrong sort of pressure can end this before it begins. He delves deeper, finding more of the young man’s taste with his tongue and a promise for later. A velvety, sensual assurance that once Eggsy is healed, there will be more of this.

Of deep kisses and tangled limbs, of long days spent in bed and nights pressed up against each other, and a life where they don’t disappear without a word or die until they are both old and grey.

He swallows Eggsy’s moan as his teeth nip at the young man’s bottom lip. Harry sighs into him, a quiet thank you for having a second chance, and cups a stubble covered cheek with the intention of never letting him go.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in many years, Harry Hart wakes with a smile plastered on his face and a giddy sensation bubbling in his stomach.

It’s a strange sensation, to be sure, especially for someone with such a serious disposition as himself. He lingers under the comforter, allowing his mind to wander back to the previous evening’s encounter.

Harry can still feel the press of Eggsy’s lips against his own while his arms looped around his neck. He recounts every second of their kiss, a reintroduction to physical intimacy between the two, and how the young man lay in his arms when he grew weary.

He wishes that they could stay that way all night, though Harry suspects that Michelle Unwin would have plenty to say if she caught them in such a position.

“I’ll tell her ‘bout us,” Eggsy assured as he traced his fingernail over Harry’s palm lines. If the heaviness of his eyelids were anything to go by, he was exhausted by the day’s events.

Harry watched him while absently stroking Eggsy’s scalp and wasn’t the least bit surprised when the young man yawned. “Your mother? Do you think she’ll be angry given our previous history?”

“Nah,” the lad replied. “Never told her ‘bout us from before and I think knowin’ what happened to dad has given her closure.” He turns his face upright, grinning tiredly. “Besides, you’ll charm the trousers off her.”

He returns the grin with one of his own. “Well, not _her_ trousers, but certainly her son’s,” Harry teases before bestowing a peck on Eggsy’s forehead.

They stayed in each other’s arms until Michelle, Daisy, and JB returned home. Eggsy had fallen asleep by then and had to be roused by Harry before the older man departed back to headquarters. With a gentle squeeze of his lover’s hand, the two men said goodbye before Harry left for his temporary home.

Harry’s mobile dings from the nightstand, indicating that he has received a text. Rolling over, he grabs the device to see a good morning message from Eggsy. Rather than replying, Harry decides to call him.

The young man is quick to pick up. “You sound chipper,” he jokes.

“Well, I have a reason to be,” Harry tells him. “And good morning to you as well.”

“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreamin’ last night,” Eggsy says. “You know when you snogged me to oblivion.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “No, my darling, that wasn’t a dream. Shall I do it again?”

“You’ll have the chance to,” the young man replies. “Comin’ by HQ for a checkup with Dr. Hanover later today. Wants to make sure I’m healin’ and all.”

The conversation between them flows easily until Michelle calls for her son, reminding him of his appointment. Eggsy scoffs and tells her that he’ll only be a moment. “Gotta go,” he grumbles. “You’ll be ‘round later, yeah?”

“Yes,” Harry replies. “You may find me running around the grounds like a candidate, much to Merlin’s absolute delight. I should be done no later than three if your schedule permits.”

Eggsy’s breathing crackles into the phone. “Perhaps I’ll come track you down,” he says, sounding like he’s smirking. “Cheer you on, just take the piss with ol’ Merlin.”

“I shall eagerly await your arrival,” Harry laughs. He becomes thoughtful in those moments. “Darling?”

“Yeah?”

Harry moves to cradle the mobile between his shoulder and cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Eggsy tells him. “My chap is an ol’ romantic. Never would have guessed.”

 

* * *

 

Harry tries to ignore the smug grin on Merlin’s face and Roxy’s lingering presence as he loads his revolver at the gun range.

It’s mid-afternoon and he wants a shower, a glass of scotch, and to be with Eggsy, though not necessarily in that order. His body has been through tremendous physical activity, long forgotten tasks endured as a young man during his Kingsman candidacy.

He is sticky with perspiration and has unseemly amounts of dirt stuck to his person. Still Harry soldiers on without complaint. He finishes loading his weapon and inspects it carefully before addressing Merlin. “I am ready,” he tells his friend, stepping aside.

Merlin walks over, holding his tablet, and goes about checking over the weapon with the seriousness of a barrister. He nods in approval. “It seems that you’ve managed to retain your training during your extended leave,” his friend comments.

“It seems that you’ve forgotten that while you are a cheeky berk, I can still kick your arse from here to Edinburgh,” Harry fires back, his voice even and calm.

The other man grins. “I have not,” he replies, taking a step back. “You will fire upon the mark with your left hand.”

“I beg your pardon?” Harry asks, stunned. “My left hand?”

Merlin nods. “Yes.”

“You know very well that I am right-handed.”

“Indeed, though it is also known that you are capable of firing with your left as well,” Merlin rationalizes.

Harry hears between the lines as if he were able to see them. Kingsman wants to know if his injury caused by Valentine has left him permanently handicapped. Or perhaps someone noticed the tremor he mentioned to Eggsy when they were in Russia, for the boy would never tell anyone.

“Thank you for the clarification,” he says before picking up the gun.

Harry goes through the motions of removing the safety and preparing to fire; it’s second nature by now, given how long he’s devoted his life to Kingsman. He reckons it similar to breathing, though with more violent results. As he aims the weapon at the target, his pinkie finger—naked without his signet ring—begins to tremor.

Breathing in, he switches the gun into his right hand and gives his left a shake.

“Take your time,” Merlin assures, concerned.

Harry refuses to look at his friend, for it will break his concentration. He is aware that besides Eggsy and himself, there are others who want him to once again grace the hallways of the mansion. “Your patience is appreciated, Hamish,” Harry tells him.

His tremor stops after a few minutes, never escalating past his pinkie and ring finger. Harry swallows a grateful breath and releases it as the cool metal surface makes contact with his hand.

The handle feels like an old lover against his skin or the return of a friend long-lost. _I can do this,_ he thinks as he aims the weapon at the target. _I want to do this._

Harry thinks of Eggsy, whom he brought into this life of covert operations, and how much he wants to have the young man by his side in the field. It’s been two months since Berlin and the lad grows stronger with each passing day.

His finger caresses the trigger while Harry lines up his shot with the center of the target, thinking of those who tried to stand in his way of being with Eggsy.

Of Valentine and Vesper, both of whom died far too quickly for their misdeeds, and of himself who ran from love because he’s a berk.

And lastly, of Eggsy, whose words still echo within Harry’s mind. _I love you, too,_ he told him.

 _I love you as well,_ he says to himself, because it’s true.

Then he pulls the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Harry is not entirely surprised to find Eggsy sitting on top of an examination bed, looking rather half-naked and cross as he submits himself to Dr. Hanover.

The young man is visible through a sliver between the curtain and wall; enough room for Harry to lay eyes upon his scowl as well as his healing injuries. Much to Harry’s relief, the bruising is gone and faded from recent memory.

Eggsy’s scar, however, is just as jagged and vibrant as Harry remembers. It curves along the span of skin where his kidney used to lie, left irreparable by Vesper’s desperate attempt to take something from the older man. It’s fading, though not quick enough in Harry’s opinion, and will one day be an echo of his lover’s days as a Kingsman.

Hanover orders the lad to lie down on his back for additional inspection when Harry decides to make his presence known. Eggsy turns towards him, a grin appearing on his face until Xavier palpates an area that is sore. “Bloody hell,” the young man grunts, rolling his eyes at the doctor. “Could you be a bit gentler, bruv? I’m a livin’ human bein’!”

“Noted, Galahad,” Xavier tells him. He glances at the visitor, seeming surprised at him being there. “You’re early, Harry.”

He shrugs. “Punctuality is an important quality of a gentleman.”

“Or that Hell has frozen over,” the doctor comments, offhandedly, as he continues his examination of Eggsy.

The young man grunts and complains quietly until Xavier tells him to sit up and don his discarded jumper and shirt. “What’s the verdict, doc?” Eggsy teases once he’s wearing his shirt. He flashes Hanover a charming grin, which has absolutely no effect.

“You are healing quite nicely,” Xavier admits while typing in some information to his tablet. “The tenderness around the affected areas is completely expected, given the amount of trauma.”

Eggsy pulls on his jumper and goes about bunching the sleeves at his elbow. “Does this mean I’m off bed rest?”

“No,” Hanover replies, bursting the lad’s hopeful bubble. He raises his brows at Eggsy’s groan, shaking his head at the knight. “I will allow one hour of _light_ exercise, Galahad. Playing with your sister or taking your dog for a walk, but nothing else. No lifting, running, jogging, swimming or any other strenuous activity.”

Pouting, the young man sighs in defeat. “You don’t know my sister,” he grumbles. “Vicious little tyke, that one is!”

“Daisy is hardly what I’d describe as anything but charming,” Harry interjects while Xavier chuffs to himself and Eggsy casts a look at the doctor that one could only describe as disdain. “Much like her older brother.”

“I hope she is more patient,” Dr. Hanover comments.

The young man rolls his eyes. “She’s two. What do you think, bruv?”

“Very well,” Xavier says, glancing over at Harry. “You can two can leave now, but remember what I said, Galahad. _Light_ exercise. And I will be sending your updated chart to Merlin and the gym staff!”

Eggsy waves him off as he leaves the examination room with Harry in tow. “Crusty ol’ bastard,” he grumbles once they’re out of earshot. “He’s no fun!”

“Xavier has only your best interests in mind,” the older man assures. “And I doubt you want to end up in his care so soon after leaving.”

“Two months ain’t that long,” Eggsy counters.

Harry shrugs as he verves them towards his quarters. “It’s long enough for me,” he gently chides.

“How did your tests go?” the young man inquires, changing the conversation’s direction. He gives Harry’s appearance a once-over. “You look like a proper mess.”

He grins. “An indication that they went well,” Harry tells him.

“You serious?” Eggsy says quietly. His eyes shift around to see if there is any unwanted company. “You reckon you passed them?”

Harry nods while pressing the palm of his hand against the scanner outside his quarters. “If Merlin’s complaints are anything to go by, then yes.” The door creaks open, to which he pushes it further and gestures for Eggsy to go in before him. “After you, darling.”

“Be serious, Harry!” the young man exclaims once they’re in the privacy of the room. Eggsy is standing in the middle of the suite, looking wholly frustrated by Harry’s evasiveness. “If you don’t pass…”

He pushes himself off the door and saunters over to Eggsy, where he cups the lad’s shoulders. “I did,” Harry assures, fingers trailing over the soft material of the young man’s jumper before making contact with his skin. He tilts Eggsy’s chin up, closing the distance between them. “I did, my darling. With one hundred percent certainty, I passed.”

“You’re not just boastin’?” Eggsy whispers.

“No,” Harry says, bringing their lips together.

It starts out slow, tentative, though he isn’t terribly surprised when Eggsy’s fervor overcomes them. He feels the sharpness of teeth nipping at his bottom lip, followed by the slick heat of the young man’s tongue soothing the battered flesh.

Harry pulls Eggsy closer by his hips as his tongue slips inside of his lover’s hot, wanting mouth, forgetting Dr. Hanover’s warning against strenuous activity.

For all the grace either man possesses, they stumble towards the empty bed while leaving a trail of clothes on the carpet. Neither of them has time or patience for something slow, as evident when a very naked Eggsy pulls Harry on top of him.

He is still sticky with sweat which doesn’t seem to bother his lover as he places several love bites over Harry’s chest. Eggsy’s tongue finds his nipple, working the nub with suction and a devilish mouth. Harry dips down to capture his lover’s lips in another kiss, not so secretly enjoy the way the younger man’s body feels against his own.

Their cocks rub upon one another, igniting a set of muffled whimpers from beneath Harry’s mouth. Eggsy’s fingers dig into the muscles of his back, ardent and eager for more. Eggsy moves before another sound emits from him.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, breathless, as he rolls off his lover.

Eggsy is flushed and wincing as a trembling hand touches his scar. “Moved the wrong way,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. His erection softens upon his hip, which is a normal reaction given, the circumstances. “I see what ol’ Doc Hanover means now.”

“I quite agree,” the older man says, cupping Eggsy’s cheek. In the daytime, the freckles painted on the young man’s skin are evident. He reckons he could trace them down his body, and if his cock is any indication, Harry desires to do so.

Harry pecks the tip of Eggsy’s nose, then lips, and paints an invisible path to his ear. “And there are other— _slower_ —ways to enjoy ourselves,” he reminds, teasingly.

Eggsy shivers. “Yes, Harry,” he groans, chest heaving against his own.

Harry reaches for the young man’s semi-soft prick and thumbs the flared ridges of his head, using precum to slick the way. Eggsy moans, thrusting into his hand as his cock becomes hard once again.

“That’s it, my darling,” Harry whispers as he meets each movement of the young man’s hips. “Like that.”

Eggsy’s warm, calloused hand wraps itself around his own cock and strokes in time with Harry’s movements. They gasp against each other’s lips, breathing ragged as their bodies move on the mattress.

“Oh, God,” his lover whispers.

His words are hot upon Harry’s mouth, drifting and intoxicating him along with his scent—his cologne, the sweat upon his skin, his natural musk beneath it all.

Eggsy’s lips dance across his flesh until they settle in the curve of Harry’s neck. “Harry,” the young man whines in warning.

He takes them both in hand, using his palm and friction to bring both men off. “Cum in my hand, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, grunting when his lover finds a sensitive spot upon his collarbone. “I’ve missed you so much, darling. I want to hear you.”

Harry can feel his abdomen tightening, his orgasm spreading through his body. He’s forgotten what it’s like to be with another, especially Eggsy, whom he loves without rhyme or reason.

It’s like breathing.

Eggsy’s fingers bury themselves in his hair as the young man’s breathing grows erratic. “Har—” he chokes off, his body arching into Harry’s and cums.

It’s all for him, this rawness that Eggsy only allows Harry to see.

He climaxes with a strangled shout of his lover’s name and proceeds to pump them through their orgasms. Once both men are sated, Harry finds himself lying on the mattress and trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eggsy murmurs as his thigh bumps the older man’s. “That was amazin’.”

“I am pleased to hear so, darling,” Harry tells him. He turns his head to find his lover already looking at him, flush-faced and bright eyed. Grinning, he reaches out to touch Eggsy’s collarbone. “I had nearly forgotten how beautiful you are when naked.”

The comment brings a sheepish blush to the young man’s already pink face. He curls up against Harry, resting his cheek against the older man’s chest. “Come off it,” Eggsy says as he slings his arm over Harry’s waist. “You’re post-coital and don’t know what you’re sayin’!”

He rolls the lad onto the bed to pin him down with his own body. “You vastly underestimate your worth,” Harry tells Eggsy as he straddles his pelvis. “I will tell you how much you mean to me every day, even after you’re tired of hearing it.”

Hands touch him, gliding up his thighs until Eggsy is caressing his hips. The young man is unwontedly silent as he kneads the thin skin over the joints. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of you,” he admits quietly. Eggsy finally dares to meet Harry’s gaze, smirking. “You’re stuck with me, bruv.”

“You say it like it’s a burden,” Harry teases, “when there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

 

* * *

 

It is nearly seven in the evening when Harry feels Eggsy stirring next to him.

Setting his book down on the nightstand, he turns his full attention to his waking lover, not so secretly delighting in seeing the young man wearing his clothes. “Good evening,” Harry says as a pair of green eyes falls upon him, blinking the last bits of sleep from them.

“Hi,” the knight croaks, palming his face until he realizes that it’s no longer daytime. Panic sweeps across his features, to which Harry touches his shoulder.

“I’ve already phoned your mother and told her that you would be staying the night at the mansion,” he assures, running his hand up and down the length of Eggsy’s arm. “I might have mentioned that your outing was far more tiring than you reckoned.”

Eggsy laughs, scooting closer to Harry, who lifts his arm to accommodate his lover. “Hm, if only everyone knew what got me knackered,” he jokes. He curls into the other man’s side, humming contently.

“Thank goodness the walls are soundproof,” Harry tells him, burying his nose into his lover’s hair.

Eggsy smells of the toiletries in the guest bathroom where he and Harry luxuriated in the bathtub until the skin on their fingers and toes pruned. It would be a lie if Harry didn’t admit that he enjoyed having Eggsy in his arms while they talked about inconsequential things. Even when they lapsed into a comfortable silence, he realized how happy he was.

They stayed in the bath until both of them grew drowsy and retired to bed for a nap. Harry hadn’t needed the rest as much as Eggsy, so he busied himself with reading and phoning Michelle to tell her of the whereabouts of her son.

It’s only convenient he left out where the lad was sleeping.

“Are you hungry?” Harry inquires. He runs his fingers through the wavy strands of Eggsy’s hair. “I can call down to the kitchens and have them prepare us something.”

The knight shrugs. “So long as I don’t have to get up,” he replies, nuzzling Harry’s t-shirt.

“I believe that request can be granted,” the older man says as he reaches over for the telephone on the nightstand and places it on his lap.

They decide on a light dinner, as Eggsy is still teetering on the edge of falling back asleep. He closes his eyes as Harry reads aloud, passing the time before their meal comes.

It’s a quiet evening that ends early; to some, they would describe it as dull or boring. However, only one word comes to mind when Harry drifts off with Eggsy’s forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

Perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest and most grateful thank yous to: Bre - the greatest friend and beta a girl could have, Kellan - an idea bouncer supreme and cheerleader, Leah - the sweetest and loveliest friend that I cherish beyond comprehension, Mara - one of the best screamers and Snapchatters I've ever met, Ronald - my favorite Firth lover, Zin - you lovely, lovely, lady I am so happy I can call you my friend, and Dommi - my favorite jerk, you are the worst/best. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has joined the ride of this series and hanging in there. I couldn't have asked for better readers.

As expected, Arthur calls him in for a meeting a few days after his tests have been completed.

Harry finds himself donning yet another bespoke suit—the very one he wore the day he remade Eggsy’s acquaintance. It had been outside of a police station on a bright day. Harry waited patiently for the young man to exit the unremarkable building, wondering how time had treated Lee Unwin’s son from the last time he saw him. Just a glance at his rap sheet proved that Eggsy had fallen in a bad way and Harry wondered what the lad could do if he gave him a leg up.

As it turns out, it has been far beyond Harry’s wildest dreams. He cannot credit himself, for Eggsy is the one who dug himself out of his own hole and found the way to a better life. No matter what the lad argues when the topic is discussed, Harry refuses to take credit of any sort.

“Mr. Hart,” Arthur greets once she has opened the door to her office. She glances at the grandfather clock in the hallway, a brow arching at the time. “Late as usual.”

He offers an apologetic smile. “My apologies,” he tells her as they shake hands. “It seems that nerves got the best of me and I ended up having a difficult time with my tie.”

Bless her, truly, when Arthur goes to observe the article of clothing hung around his neck. Making an incoherent sound, she goes to him and sets about redoing the tie’s knot. “Harry,” she chastises, her voice filled with fondness as her fingers work the fabric. “You and I both know you have nothing to fear.”

“I realize that now,” he says, amused that the head of the organization is doing his tie. “Ever the mother?”

She snorts, rolling her blue eyes. “It is my belief that everyone needs their mother, even agents,” she replies as if she’s divulging a secret. “We _are_ family, after all.” Arthur takes a step back and inspects her handiwork, smoothing the tie with her palm.

“Am I presentable?” Harry questions.

Arthur grins. “I suppose. Come and be seated.” It seems that she has arranged for tea service to be served during their meeting; something only Jenny would think to do.

“I must admit that having tea is making me more nervous,” Harry tells her as he sits down. He watches her beginning to pour tea into the cups.

“You passed,” Arthur states as she takes the milk in hand. “Milk, no sugar, correct?”

Harry is stunned into silence, only able to nod at her question. She sets his cup and saucer in front of him before adding milk and sugar to her own.

“You can take that gobsmacked look off your face,” Arthur tells him without looking up. “It’s rather unsightly, especially for a gentleman agent.”

He blinks, coming back to himself. “I passed?” he questions.

“Yes and with flying colors, as Merlin predicted,” she continues. “You actually bested your course score by three seconds from the previous year. I would like Xavier to re-examine your hand to see if the tic is from your injuries or otherwise.”

Harry affirms this request with a nod of his head. “Of course. I shall make an appointment as soon as possible.”

“It seems that Merlin, whom you left as your beneficiary, was only letting your home out until he decided what to do with it. Our relocation staff is having your things delivered to the house tomorrow, after they’re done cleaning,” Arthur adds, as if they are having a casual conversation. She glances at him and takes notices of how pale the agent appears. “Are you alright, Harry?”

He forces himself to pick up the teacup and sip from it. “I’m just…” Harry pauses, trying to find the words. “Overwhelmed,” he admits with a smile. “Joyously so.”

“Good,” Arthur says. “Now for your designation.” She winks at him. “I’m sure you are eager to hear it now that you’ve been cleared.”

“Well, yes,” Harry replies. “Of course, it is mostly curiosity…”

She pulls a face as she sips from her teacup. “Curiosity, indeed,” Arthur comments. “In three weeks’ time, you will re-enter our ranks and knighted as Pellinore.”

“The King of the Isles and son of King Pellam,” Harry states. “Most famous for his endless hunt of the Questing Beast and for fathering Tor, Aglovale, Lamorak, Dornar, and Percival, as well as the grand-uncle of Galahad.” He thinks on the name and finds himself quite pleased with it. “I was half expecting Excalibur, knowing your sense of humor.”

Jenny chuckles. “I would never do such a thing to do, Harry dear,” she assures as she sets her cup down. “Do you approve?”

“Very much so,” he tells her, smiling. “Though I doubt I’d have much of a say in what you bestow upon me.”

“Also true,” Arthur replies. “Once you're knighted, you will be issued the standard Kingsman kit, which you are familiar with. Merlin will likely insist on retraining you, but if you feel it unnecessary you may skip it and rain on his parade.”

Harry tries to hide his delight with an ill-concealed snort. “Yes, of course, ma’am.”

“Just be sure not to act too happy when you meet with him,” Jenny orders, grinning. “I suppose that’s the business between us, save for the paperwork which will be sent to your home address. I assume you blocked that part from memory.”

The paperwork—including disclosure of dismemberment, torture, or death—had been long and tedious for both himself and Merlin. He recalls many hours spent complaining with his mate about the weight of the introduction package that Kingsman sent out to all their knight elects.

“Ah yes,” Harry sighs. “I remember Merlin’s insensate bitching, though he wouldn’t dare admit to it now.”

“We _all_ know how much Hamish adores complaining,” Arthur adds. “Now we enjoy our afternoon tea and speak of things not having to do with work. Are you looking forward to it?”

Harry peers into his teacup, watching as remnants of tea leaves float with the movement of the water. “I am,” he replies. “Very much so.”

 

* * *

 

Harry is standing over a box in the downstairs lavatory when the doorbell chimes.

The familiarity of being back within the walls of his home is a strange sensation, for he thought that he would never return. Now his belongings are arranged as they were as he headed to Kentucky, leaving Eggsy behind after their furious row.

Spying through the peephole, Harry finds the young man on his front stoop, waiting patiently for the owner of the house to let him inside. “Are you keeping tabs on me, darling?” he asks upon opening the door, grinning.

“We _are_ spies, after all,” Eggsy replies cheekily. He steps inside, pressing a quick peck to Harry’s lips.

He shuts the door while latching onto the lad’s arm, pulling him to his chest once they are no longer in view of the neighborhood. “Is that how you greet your boyfriend?” Harry inquires, threading his fingers around the back of Eggsy’s head.

“You’re covered in dust,” the young man complains halfheartedly.

The irises of the knight’s eyes stand out in Harry’s mind as they stand so closely together. He’s seen the variety of shades they bleed into and has committed them to memory.

Phthalo green, resembling the moors on a moonless night for when he’s about to fight or terribly cross. There is a recollection of Vienna and Berlin, though it’s not as painful as it once was. The palest emerald for most days and ever so striking in their appearance.

And finally a shade resembling a moonstone for when Eggsy is alone with him and they are about to cross the threshold.

Rather than contemplate the young man’s commentary, Harry draws their mouths together in a slow, languid kiss. He smiles as he listens to Eggsy’s content sigh and decides he wants to seek the delicious taste of his lover beyond his lips. Harry’s tongue parts the young man’s mouth with a series of flicks and nips while Eggsy clings to his waist, fisting the fabric of his shirt.

He breaks them apart in order to fight the urge to drag Eggsy to the hardwood floor. “I want to show you the house,” Harry tells him, breathing heavily.

“I know you don’t mean the bedroom,” Eggsy teases, ducking in for another kiss, which turns into another five minutes of them making out in the foyer. The young man pulls back, running his hands along the plains of Harry’s lower back. “You’re far too much of a gentleman for cheesy pick-ups.”

He laughs into the lad’s hair. “Perhaps I should surprise you with my repertoire,” Harry deadpans, taking Eggsy by the hand and leading him into the house to give him a tour.

The last time he did this—during their twenty-four hour period together prior to the final task—things had been much different between him and the young man. Aside from not crossing the threshold to lovers, Eggsy was a nervous ball of energy as they moved from room to room.

“What’s this?” the lad exclaims while passing by the downstairs lavatory. Letting go of Harry’s hand, he bounds inside and laughs. “No Mr. Pickle above the loo, then? Finally realized how creepy that is, yeah?”

Groaning, Harry follows. “I’m currently undecided of his placement,” he states with a gesture to the box containing said stuffed dog.

“In the incinerator, I reckon,” Eggsy says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “And then you scatter his ashes under the roses or summat.”

“Mr. Pickle deserves more than that,” Harry argues.

His lover arches his brow. “So you stick him in the toilet?”

“Point taken,” he concedes.

 

* * *

 

The next two weeks are a whirlwind, filled with the forewarned paperwork (which isn’t as terrible as Harry predicted—he makes a note to send Jenny flowers) and assimilating himself back into London society, post V-Day.

Not much has changed in terms of aesthetics; the English city is still vibrant and lively under the dreary grey sky looming overhead with just the right amount of stuffiness.

It seems that people, in the aftermath of Valentine’s aborted plan to rid the world of parasites, are far more pleasant than before, if not a bit cautious about their actions. They now understand what events can transpire if citizens do not band together for change and allow villainous men to manipulate the system.

All in all, London is harmonious, something Harry quite enjoys. The atmosphere accompanies him during trips to the grocery store or on walks around the neighborhood. Even into shopping centers and cinemas, the latter which he often goes to with Eggsy.

While most would assume that CGI explosions and swearing is more of the young knight’s style, they are wont to be disappointed. Per their conversation minutes prior to Harry submitting his lover for candidacy, Eggsy favors the Golden Age of cinema. Anything from Gene Kelly musicals to film-noirs, the young man delights in watching them with Harry’s around slung around his shoulders.

They spend many dates now that Michelle is fully aware of their relationship and has accepted it with uncommon grace in darkened cinema halls with a box of popcorn between them, cuddling as the likes of Audrey Hepburn, Julie Andrews, Cary Grant, and Clark Gable grace the screen. Black and white or color, it doesn’t seem to matter much to Eggsy.

He quietly recites dialogue into the curve of Harry’s neck and taps along to a musical number on his knuckles.

To watch the young man become so enraptured causes Harry’s heart to go aflutter. As he once commented, Eggsy is “full of surprises.”

“Johnny Mathis?” the young man calls from the front room.

Harry is cooking them dinner when Eggsy comes into the kitchen, holding the record in question. “Ah yes,” he replies. “Music by Robert Allen and lyrics written by Al Stillman for the 1957 film, _Lizzie_. I believe the Mathis recording is arranged by Ray Conniff. Why do you ask, darling?”

“Never pegged you for the type of chap who listens to standards,” Eggsy says as he inspects the record’s cover.

“To be fair, I never thought you would know of _My Fair Lady_ ,” Harry counters with an amused grin.

The lad sticks out his tongue. “Shows how much you knew, bruv,” he states. “Can we give this a listen after dinner?”

“Certainly, my darling,” the older man agrees while he chops vegetables. “Anything to broaden your horizons.”

Dinner is a casual affair at the kitchen table, something he would never have dreamt of doing before. If anything, Harry had always been a stickler for etiquette and went as far as teaching Eggsy some during their twenty-four hours together.

That era is long past, giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere in his home. Save for the stuffed dog that is currently residing in a cardboard box, Harry has pulled the proverbial stick out of his arse.

Once the dishes are cleared away and the leftovers put into the refrigerator, they venture into the office where Harry’s record player resides. It’s a gramophone, something gifted from his grandfather, which he keeps in pristine condition. “I enjoy listening to music while I work,” he explains to Eggsy as he sets the record onto the turntable with delicacy and patience. “Either on my laptop or with this.”

“When you’re feelin’ the era of a time long past,” the young man cracks.

He rolls his eyes. “The sound is excellent, I’ll have you know,” Harry retorts as the first notes come through the pavilion. “Ah, there we are.” They stand in a comfortable silence as the ballad fills the room and a memory comes to his mind. “I recall an argument we had early in your recovery about waltzing.”

“I remember nothin’,” Eggsy counters, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever I said, I was off my head on painkillers!”

Harry makes an impatient sound as he reaches for his lover’s hands, placing them in the appropriate positions for ballroom dancing. “You act as if I am about to torture you.”

“Never know with you,” the lad teases, his eyes focused on Harry’s movements. He glances up at the older man and winks. “Gentleman in the streets, beast in the sheets.”

He groans, dropping his forehead onto Eggsy’s shoulder. “I’ll _pretend_ I never heard that. Now, follow my lead.”

The first steps are tentative on the young man’s part, as he’s busy trying not to squash Harry’s feet with his own. He picks it up relatively fast - unsurprising given Eggsy’s history with gymnastics - and soon the two men are dancing close together.

Harry closes his eyes as Eggsy’s cheek touches his jaw, allowing the scent of the lad’s deodorant, body wash, and shampoo to coiling into his nostrils. His lover reminds him of spring, where everything is fresh and new, though there is a tinge of spice underneath all the layers.

Eggsy moves closer until they are practically melting into each other, not that Harry minds. He reckons he could spend the remainder of his days wrapped up in the young man and feel his warmth sink into his bones.

The record comes to a stop, though they keep swaying in the center of the office until Eggsy clears his throat. Harry pulls back a fraction to view the lad and finds himself in danger of drowning in the green of his eyes. Without another word, he cups Eggsy’s cheeks and sedately brings their mouths together.

As they touch, Harry hears his lover’s sigh, followed by the feeling of his hands around his waist.

It’s a perfect kiss, the kind meant for romantic comedies. Harry can taste Eggsy bursting forth on his tongue, spreading throughout his mouth until there’s nothing else. He’s aware of his lover’s body, every bit of fair skin and muscle compacted into one hundred and seventy-seven centimeters.

He experiences the strange sensation of falling—the only other time being in Russia—and the need to feel more, needing to have more. They haven’t slept together since that single night, though they have indulged in other, non-penetrative activities.

The kind that requires him to change the sheets.

He doesn’t want to make the young man engage in sex for his sake and is fine with waiting. It seems that tonight is different from others, so Harry pushes forward, testing his lover’s boundaries. He is met with the scrape of Eggsy’s teeth on his bottom lip and a growl coming from the depths of the young man.

It’s the only signal Harry Hart needs to bring them to his bedroom, which alone is a death defying act as neither man seems to want to stop kissing.

They stumble up the stairs and bump into corners, kicking off shoes and socks and dropping shirts and sweaters on the floor. Laughter is muffled by their lips and tongue, neither one of them caring of their clumsiness. By the time he and Eggsy reach the master bedroom, they are clad in their underwear and trembling with anticipation.

Harry walks his lover backward towards the bed, breaking their kiss apart to push Eggsy onto the mattress while simultaneously pulling off his boxer briefs. He flings the black fabric away from them before divesting himself of his own. As he reveals himself to the lad, Eggsy makes a needy sound and reaches for him, pulling Harry by the hips.

“C’mere,” he whispers, mouth hot against Harry’s collarbone.

He straddles the young man, groaning as Eggsy’s lips, teeth, and tongue manipulate love bites into his skin. Harry would prefer to be plundering said mouth; he ducks in and catches Eggsy with a kiss. It’s deeper this time and far more needy than Harry has ever imagined.

He wants Eggsy; wants every part of him - the good, the bad, the ugly. He wants to fall asleep next to him every night and wake to his face every morning.

To live and breathe with Eggsy at his side for the rest of his days; that’s what Harry wants more than anything in this world.

He stretches out over his lover’s body, using the opportunity for them to rut against each other. Just being able to feel Eggsy on his skin sends a fire through him, his desire careening from his head straight to his already thickened cock.

“I’m never leaving you,” he tells his lover. “Never again.”

Eggsy moans in reply, grinding their erections together when he hooks a leg over one of Harry’s hips. The lad seems ready to burst for all he moans and cries out. “I’m yours,” he gasps.

“ _Mine_ ,” Harry growls possessively. “You were mine from the moment I saw you.”

He rolls on the mattress, taking Eggsy with him and welcomes another devouring kiss as he reaches in the direction of the nightstand. With years of practice, Harry locates the item he desires—a bottle of lubricant —all while he seeks more of his lover’s mouth.

Popping the cap open, he pours a generous amount onto his fingers, allowing the clear fluid to warm upon his skin.

“Fuck yes,” Eggsy groans, his lashes batting at his pleasure. “Been wantin’ you to fuck me open for ages.”

Harry tilts the young man’s chin upward. “For ages?” he teases, raising a brow. He snakes his hand down the knobs of Eggsy’s spine and between his cheeks. There he wets the bud of his arsehole, feeling the ridges and puckered skin. “It’s coincidence that I’ve wanted to bend you in half and make you feel me for days.”

“Jesus,” his lover sighs, looking all wide-eyed and amazed. “Where have you been keeping that sort of dirty talk, Harry?”

“There is plenty more where it came from,” he answers at the same time he sinks two fingers into Eggsy’s heat.

His lover’s body pulls him in, greedy and wanting in such a way Harry’s never experienced. He can feel each pulse and flutter of movement as he prepares Eggsy while the young man’s moans fill the room. Harry whispers assurances against the sweaty skin of his chest, pausing to mouth a nipple or wet sparse chest hair with his tongue.

“You are so lovely, Eggsy,” Harry tells him. “So wonderful and I love you.”

A third finger slips alongside the other two and the young man clamps down on them, a wanton cry escaping his lips.

“Please Harry,” the lad urges. “Please!”

Eggsy is gloriously beautiful; there is no other word that comes to mind as Harry he withdraws his fingers to slick up his cock. He is flushed and ready, baring his body, mind, and soul just for him. What he offers Harry is the world, even if Eggsy never realizes it.

He slides into his lover’s body, finding pleasure as time seemingly stands still for them. Harry’s nerves are sparking, tendrils breaking through his composure and burying themselves deep within himself.

It’s as if the universe knows how much this—having this second chance with Eggsy—means to him. For all the disturbances and trials they have endured, they found each other in the end.

 _Except this is hardly the end_ , Harry thinks to himself as he stares upon his lover. _Hardly at all._

“Harry,” Eggsy questions, his voice soft like a summer breeze. “You alright?”

He smiles, the only reaction he deems appropriate. “Never better, my darling.”


End file.
